


Would Have Gotten Away With It, Too...

by pherryt



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Crack Fic, Ghouls, I'm Sorry, Monsters, Mystery, Shapechanger, Skinwalker, Strong Language, Werewolf, Witch - Freeform, although it does get a little dark?, canon style violence, fae, i hope this makes you laugh, might ruin childhoods, seriously, who are the scooby gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Sam finds a string of murders going across the country in the wake of a green and blue van, the kids inside heralded as amateur sleuths.There's gotta be more to it then that, so he and Dean set off to find them. Are they hunters? Innocent bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time? or were they something else?





	1. So Get This-

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poD7et](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poD7et/gifts).



> A long time ago, I saw this pop up on my dash over three times in a couple of months:   
> and I just KNEW there was some kind of story to be had.
> 
> I started it. then i put it to the side because crack or not, case fics are HARD (I'm way better at AU's). but after todays announcement, I NEEDED to finish it.  
> I hope it makes you laugh.

"So, get this –" Sam walked into the kitchen with his laptop and not any other sort of preamble, just launching into his usual spiel. The spiel that always landed them on some sort of case – which was good – or preceded a push to get Dean to talk about his feelings – which was bad. At least, with the laptop in his hands, Dean could bet good money on the former and feel happy that he got to avoid the latter, yet again.

It didn't stop him from ribbing his brother though.  "Jesus Christ Sammy, are you a broken record or something?"

"What?" Sam paused and looked around him, as if Dean were referring to an actual record player he wasn't seeing or hearing. With a confused shake of his head, he looked back at his older brother.

"Do you realize that every time you walk into a room, you lead with that line?"

"No I don't," Sam scoffed. Dean gave him a look that said otherwise. "But see, this is really important Dean."

"Okay, shoot." Dean said with a resigned sigh, waving at his brother to continue.

"Right, so get this…" Sam started and Dean groaned. He was sure his brother had done it on purpose this time. Sam winced. Or not. "Okay fine, maybe I've got a catchphrase."

"Ya think?" Dean muttered. "Sometimes, I swear to god, it's like we're on a god damn tv show or something." They both paused to think about that. There was the book series, and the convention and then that musical, come to think of it. And who knew what else.

"Shit, you don't think that…?" Sam's eyes widened.

"I dunno. I sure as hell hope not." Dean shuddered.

"But I mean, how would we tell?" Sam carefully sat down at the table, placing his laptop down between them.

"We look for the trickster? Or um, signs of a djinn?" Dean offered.

"You really think it’s a djinn? This isn't exactly a happy dream…" Sam retorted.

"Well, there's always the other kind."

"Look, Dean, our life isn't perfect, but it's not exactly a nightmare either. It just…kinda…is…" Sam trailed off a little uncertainly.

"What about Cas? He could figure it out, right?" Dean's eyes lit up with the idea of calling Cas for anything, just waiting for an excuse to call him, though he used less excuses these days and just called for the hell of it.

"But would it be the real Cas? I mean, if it's a dream world, he could be just as fake as anything else around us. You could be fake." Sam said thoughtfully.

"Fuck no, I'm real. You could be fake." Dean was emphatic.

"Well, we can't both be real,” Sam said with exasperation. “Djinn don't work like that. Wait, there was the time you and Charlie shared a djinn dream."

"Yeah, but we took African dream root for that." Dean reminded him. They both paused again, thinking.

Finally, Sam sighed, "We're getting nowhere with this line of inquiry…maybe we should table it for now."

"Yeah, sure, so, what were you going to say before?" Dean rubbed at his head. He could feel the beginnings of a headache right between his eyes.

"Oh, right, so get this…"

Dean banged his head on the kitchen table. He lifted his head to glare at his brother. "It's too early for this shit. I need more coffee. " Dean stood up and headed for the coffee maker, hoping it had finished brewing.

Sam began to talk. "I found a string of odd cases going across the US, going back about 3 years.  They all seem to take place in small towns, secluded communities, odd out of the way tourist traps, not to mention resorts of all kinds."

"Someone trying to stay under the radar?" Dean mused from the coffee machine.

"That was my thought too,” Sam agreed.

"So, what odd circumstances caught your keen eye, Sam?" Dean eyed the coffee drip. Could it go any slower?

"Right, well, there's always a death or two and someone who confesses to everything, but later, the killer retracts his statement."

"Of course he does, Sam. People lie all the time and nobody  _wants_  to go to jail." Dean rolled his eyes unseen by Sam and could practically _feel_ the bitch face he got in response. Aha! The machine stopped burbling and Dean poured the hot liquid into his mug.

"Yeah, but Dean, every single time? I mean, it's a bit of a stretch that every single time someone confesses and then insist that they never did. And the MO is always the same, no matter who did it or where they are. The accused poses as a ghost or a, or a monster of some sort, all in order to pull off some stupidly elaborate plan." Sam insisted.

Dean hummed as he stirred the sugar into his freshly poured coffee. "Okay, I gotta admit, that is a little weird. What are you thinking?"

"I think we need to talk to these guys, see what they know." Sam finally turned the laptop around so Dean could see it. Taking up the whole monitor was a picture of a blue and green van of some type with splashes of brightly painted flowers and the words "Mystery Machine" emblazoned on the side. Dean winced. Guess not everyone could be as artistic as whoever had painted Andy Gallagher's van.

Standing beside the very distinctive vehicle were 2 young men and 2 equally young women and an overly large dog. The headline above the photo declared boldly, "Amateur Teen Detectives Solve what Police Could Not".

Dean raised his brow in disbelief, his hand slowing in its effort to dissolve the sugar in his mug as he stared at the picture for a long moment before shifting his gaze to his eager brother. "Yeah, I think you're right. Let me grab a to go cup."

"Got it." Sam nodded and shut the laptop, jogging quickly out of the room to grab both his and Dean's traveling duffel bags.

Looks like they had a case.


	2. Angel Airways

Of course, to have a case, they had to find the mystery kids (and their not so little dog too) first. Since they never stayed in one place too long, that would hinder things. But when had Dean or Sam ever let a little thing like that stop them? The brothers hopped into the Impala and headed straight for the last place the gaudily painted ‘Mystery Machine’ had been spotted.

While Dean drove, Sam spread out a map and a note book, marking off in red all the places the teens had been spotted in chronological order. At least with that, they could figure out which route the teens were most likely using and what direction they were headed in. Taking note of which towns were directly on the route in his notebook, Sam then folded away the map and pulled out his phone, looking up each town to see if any of them fit the bill.

“Bingo,” Sam said with satisfaction a couple of hours into their drive.

Dean looked over in question and then back at the road. “Well, Sam? Gonna share with the class?”

“Just keep going. I think I figured out their next stop.” Sam made a few more notes in his notebook. He’d probably transfer the notes to his laptop when they stopped for the night. He made it a habit _not_ to use it when traveling by car because he invariably got caught up in whatever he was doing and not noticing the low battery warning until almost too late. And since Dean didn’t want anyone mucking around with the Impala, plugging it into the cigarette lighter was not an option. The first time Sam had suggested it, Dean had nearly had a coronary.

It hadn’t been a pretty sight.

Apparently, Dean had heard a horror story about a laptop plugged into the car cigarette lighter before...it had blown the electrical system. So suffice to say, it was never going to happen. Sam could just about strangle whoever told Dean that story.

In any case, no working on the laptop in the car. Which seriously curtailed the amount of shit he could do while Dean did all the driving. Seriously, would it kill Dean to let Sam drive for once?

Holding back a sigh, because yeah, it probably would, Sam continued on about the potential case. “There’s a mountain resort up in the Catskills that doesn’t get a lot of traffic. If I’ve done my math right and they didn’t dawdle, they probably arrived about...an hour ago.”

“Dude. Catskills? We’re not exactly close, are we? Won’t they be gone by the time we get there? I mean, how long do they usually stay in town anyway when shit hits the fan?”

“The article didn’t specify, Dean. But assuming they’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m guessing not long. Probably show up, figure out somethings going on, start investigating, then blow town after they solve it. They could be other hunters.”

“I dunno, man, they look kinda young to be hunters,” Dean said dubiously. He looked over to see Sam leveling yet another bitch face at him.

“Really, Dean? Pray tell, how old did you look when you started hunting with dad when you were - what was it again? Oh yeah, eleven.” Sam said sarcastically and Dean tried not to squirm at the tone.

“Dad was different, okay? Most people don’t let their kids go hunting, even if they teach them the basics to survive. I mean, remember Ellen?” Dean scoffed back. “Jo was a grown ass girl and we _still_ got our asses chewed out over that one. Those guys? Didn’t even look like they were _in_ college yet.”

“Whatever, Dean. Wake me up when we get there, okay?” Sam leaned his head back on the seat of the Impala and closed his eyes.

“Wait, Sam! Get where? I can’t drive to a destination when I don’t where the fuck it is!”

“Fine, then wake me when you see the first sign for the Catskills. It’ll be a few hours yet. Oh! And I programmed your phone's GPS. Just turn it on if you want directions.” Sam turned his head, wiggled on the seat and promptly fell asleep.

Dean didn’t begrudge his brother the sleep. As hunters, they learned to sleep when they could, where they could. They’d had to develop the ability to sleep at the drop of a hat, though Dean’s ability to do so had been severely impaired after his little trip downstairs. Still, it was getting a little easier again. Some nights (or weeks) were better than others. Sometimes the dreams didn’t come at all. He relished and savored those times.

Still, Dean was bored with no one to talk to. He daren’t even put the radio on too loud and he certainly couldn’t sing along (he had a tendency to overdo it and that would wake Sammy up) - which he would certainly be tempted to do no matter how loud the radio was on.

B.O.R.E.D. Bored.

Dean wondered what Cas was doing right now. Then he remembered the discussion Sam and he had been having before they left. Was it possible they were trapped in some sort of dream world? But really, who would have done it, and what would be the point? Not to mention, where was the proof, what was the rationalization for even thinking they could be? Just because Sam said one phrase a little too often?

Dean was pretty sure his use of the word ‘Awesome’ would fall into the same category if the same logic was applied. So, okay, not trapped in a dream world. Which meant if he called Cas for company, he’d get the real guy. 100 percent, full on angel, equipped with wings, halo and a harp.

Actually, Dean had no idea if Cas really did come with a halo or a harp or any of those other traditionally angel things. All their previous preconceptions on Angels had already been blown out of the water in practically that very first meeting. The wings were definite. He’d seen - or sort of seen - them before.

If the shadows of an Angel's wings were impressive, Dean wished he could see the real thing. Were they soft? What color were they? Angels were often drawn with white wings yet...Dean didn’t really get the impression that Cas’s would be that color. He always felt like it would be something...more impressive. Maybe more ethereal looking. Then again, he might have been influenced by the shadow of those wings to believe that.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean nearly swerved into a ditch before he calmed his suddenly racing heart.  The gravelly voice spoke from behind and slightly to his right. Looking up into the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of dark, messy hair and bright blue eyes. Dean looked away again before he could get caught in those eyes.

“Fuck, Cas, you scared the shit outta me,” Dean’s voice was a little harsh, but secretly, he was relieved. “What are ya doin’ here man?”

“I was...bored.” Castiel hesitated before settling on that word, an odd expression flitting across his face which Dean barely caught in his quick glance up at the mirror. Dean filed it away for later. “What are you and Sam up to?”

“Might be a case. Strange string of deaths, strung out across the states like beads on a necklace. So Sam says. And always the same people seem to be there. Now, either it’s an awfully strange series of coincidences or maybe they know something, like they’re hunters we’ve never heard of before or…” Dean trailed off uncertainly. Monsters didn’t normally work in groups, so it was more likely the kids were hunters. But something seemed off to him about it.

“Ah. Is time of the essence?” Castiel asked.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Dean shrugged, “This one’s Sam’s baby. He’s got the details, but last we checked, no new deaths and they’d already moved on.”

“Destination?”

“Uh, whatever Sammy programmed into the GPS. Kinda driving here, so I haven’t checked. Got the impression I won’t need to for a while.” Dean shrugged again before reaching down to the seat and picking up his phone, handing it over his shoulder to Castiel.

Cas took it and turned it on, taking a look. Dean smiled at him and looked back at the road. Was it weird to feel proud of how much the Angel had learned in his time there on Earth? Maybe. Probably. Eh, who cared? Dean certainly wasn’t going to worry about that.

“That’s still several hours away,” the gravelly voice interrupted Dean’s thoughts.

“Yeah, I know. But what can ya do ‘bout it, eh?”

Abruptly, the scene in front of Dean changed, and he was on a different road, the engine of the car getting louder as it worked harder to get up the mountain road. It was plenty powerful enough to handle it, but Dean hadn’t expected the sudden change in location and he nearly crashed the Impala. He did managed to pull her to the side and come to a stop, his stomach doing somersaults and his breath coming hard.

Sam woke with a start and a gagging noise.

“Cas! Shit, man! You can’t just do that without warning!” Dean growled out, twisting in his seat to face the angel head on.

“My apologies,” Cas intoned, handing Dean his phone back.

Sam sat up and looked out the windshield and spoke – as if he hadn’t just been coughing up a lung second before, “Uh, guys?”

Dean looked up to see what Sam was looking at. He’d pulled over just next to a sign for a resort in the Catskills – the Glacier Lodge – and it was one of those fancy ones. Metal embossed, screwed to a stone wall. Dean’s eyes trailed along the low wall – he and Sam could have hopped it easily – to find open, wrought iron gates. The wind blew through and one of them shifted and creaked.

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” Dean noted.

“How long have I been asleep?” Sam asked, glancing down at his watch. “Dude…did you mess with my watch?”

“What? No! talk to Angel Airways back there if you wanna know how we got here so fast. Anyway, hope you got a game plan, cause we’re goin’ in.” Dean put her back in gear and eased Baby back on the road, driving right through the gates.

 


	3. Are You High?

In no less than an hour, Sam and Dean had gotten themselves a couple of rooms. Normally, they’d share, but the place was spacious and the rooms were strangely cheap. Plus, Cas had come in with them and it would look weird if they only got one room with two beds.

Wouldn’t it?

Yeah, Dean nodded firmly at himself. Definitely. Didn’t mean they _had_ to use the other room anyway, right?

Whatever.

And then Cas had taken off for parts unknown without even a word, rendering the whole thing moot.

Dean had even parked next to that eyesore that had started this whole case. Seriously, he was sure just being parked next to it was bringing down Baby’s coolness. _Those kids better not touch my car_ , he thought grumpily.

Speaking of kids – it was dinner time at the resort when Dean and Sam had a chance to meet the four and their…dog. Dean had tried to get their early enough to switch out the silverware but when he saw the number of place settings, he knew it would be sheer luck if he managed to accomplish what he wanted.

See, the thing was, if they _weren’t_ hunters or innocent bystanders (and he didn’t believe that second option even for a…well…a _second_ ), then they had to be monsters.

And he figured, monster wise, the best way to go about framing someone else for a murder, getting them to confess and everything…was to _be_ that person.

“So you think it’s a skinwalker? What, do you think _all_ of them are skinwalkers? Because that’s just a little ridiculous, Dean,” Sam plugged his laptop in as Dean paced the room.

“What? Vampires have nests, Werewolves have packs, Witches have covens…not all the monsters out there are solitary. And what do we _really_ know about skinwalkers?”

“That…they…trick humans into bearing their children?” Sam said slowly, “Which implies no pack or nest or hive dynamic of any kind.”

“And they come after their kids too when they’re just a few months old. Which implies that they raise them, like a family unit,” Dean pointed out.

“Yeah, but Dean, all those other shape changers we met were loners, and crazy. That doesn’t scream family unit to me,” Sam said.

“Sam, we’ve found a lot of exceptions over the years. And we have no idea what the norm is. Were those loners the norm? Or were they outcasts? I still say the idea is worth poking into.” Dean headed for the door with his pockets filled with jingling silver. “Now, you comin’ or what?”

Dean halted in the doorway to the dining room and thought sadly of his heavy pockets. He’d have to talk to each and every one of them. Shake their hands instead. Get them to touch the silver ring on his finger.

Not a problem.

Except for the dog.

Never mind, he’d figure it out.

At least dinner seemed to go off without a hitch. Sam did most of the talking, somehow making it seem completely natural to mention the news story they’d most recently read about.

“I’m a bit of a mystery buff, so I keep tabs on stuff like that online occasionally. Is it true you discovered the real killer? What did the cops think of that?”

“As a matter of fact, we did,” Fred said with oozing confidence, “The cops were more than happy to hand over a supposed haunting to someone else. They don’t investigate hoaxes, after all. When we revealed that it was just someone attempting to trick the locals into _thinking_ it was something paranormal, the cops were too embarrassed to say anything.”

Daphne giggled, her red hair falling into her face as leaned over to grab Fred’s arm. “Fred here is the real brains. He’s the smartest person I know.”

A throat cleared, and they all turned to see Velma, dressed in pumpkin orange, glaring with her arms crossed over her chest. “Oh, except for Velma of course,” Daphne added.

Shaking his head, Dean decided to let Sam talk with the three of them and headed over to the lanky youth named Shaggy and his giant dog, Scooby.

The two of them were stuffing their faces, Shaggy occasionally snorting and shoving more food at the dog. Dean sat across from them with narrowed eyes, piling his own plate with food.

“It’s nice to see someone who has an appetite like ours, isn’t it Scoob?” Shaggy asked the dog. He stared at the dog expectantly, but the animal continued to gobble down everything in reach.

“Dude, you’re not actually expecting the dog to answer you, are you?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Oh, you have no idea. Usually, I can’t get him to shut up,” Shaggy said with a grin.

“Are you high?” Dean asked, looking pointedly at the dog and then all the food.

Shaggy laughed, “Why? You want me to share?” the laughs turned into giggles and the Dog even snorted and was it – Dean stared – _had it rolled his eyes? What the fuck?_

Dean shook his head and went back to eating, trying to keep an ear open on Sam’s side, but it had turned into some odd quantum discussion he couldn’t follow.

In the end, dinner was a bust. He hadn’t been able to shake _everyone’s_ hand, which still left two people (and a dog) unchecked. But he could at least say, without a doubt, that neither Daphne or Velma were a werewolf – not that that had been an option amongst his choices to begin with – or a skinwalker, like he’d been so certain of.

Great. Now he’d go to bed with Sam chanting “I told you so,” in his ear.

Maybe he would take advantage of the second room.


	4. In The Middle of the Night

Dean was awake in an instant, eyes roving around the room, hand reaching under his pillow.

Maybe separating while on a case had been a bad idea?

What had even woken him up, anyway? He rolled out of bed, gun held in his hand, hand down at his side and scanned the room again. There had to have been someth – wait, what was that?

With a smooth, fluid motion, Dean brought the gun up and – with both hands now – held it on a fluttering, floor to ceiling drape. _You have to be fuckin’ kidding me_ , he groaned internally as he saw the toes peeking out from underneath.

He approached the window slowly, kept his breathing low and steadied his arm, slowly reaching out for the drape and then yanking it aside in a swift motion. The stoner stood on the other side, his teeth chattering. He squeaked when he saw the gun pointed at him and his eyes grew wide.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you dead where you stand,” Dean growled out.

Shaggy started shaking. “Oh, please don’t kill me! Something was in my room! It got Scoob! It almost got me too but I ran…I have no idea how I got in here. I think there was a secret passage or something. You gotta help me find Scooby - he’s my best buddy!”

Dean rolled his eyes and lowered his gun. Shaggy wasn’t any kind of a threat. “Your ‘buddy’ is probably just fine. How much have you _smoked_ tonight?”

“Hey…I’m still not sharing my stash – it’s just mine and Scoobs.” His face fell, “If we ever find him again.” With a wail, Shaggy fell on Dean, hanging off his neck.

Dean’s door flew open and Sam barged in, his own gun out, “Dean, you all right?”

Seeing Shaggy, Sam came to a stop and lowered his own gun with a perplexed look at Dean. He raised an eyebrow and Dean shrugged, trying to pry off the strangely strong man draped all over him.

If Shaggy had been his type, Dean might have been all sorts of flustered. But ‘his type’ had flown off hours ago and didn’t seem to be intent on returning any time soon. Before Dean could say anything – to Sam or Shaggy, he still wasn’t sure yet – a scream from down the hall rent through the air.

Sam darted back out the door, Dean attempting to follow suit. That was hard to do with the sudden weight on his back.

“-the fuck! Get offa me!” Dean yelled, prying at Shaggy’s fingers. Damn, they were strong. _And_ sharp.

Shaggy blubbered, “B-b-but I’m so scared!”

“Yeah, well, I can’t do anything about that if you don’t let go of me,” Dean growled again. With another yank, he managed to get Shaggy off his back and Dean hurried to follow his brother out the door. What he saw stopped him dead.

Sam was comforting Daphne, a body at their feet. If Dean wasn’t mistaken, it was that of the man who’d been running the front desk. He was deader than dead. Dean crept up on the body, in case it wasn’t really dead.

When he got close enough, he realized why Sam was comforting Daphne. This was way too gruesome.

“What happened?” Dean asked Sam quietly as Daphne sobbed, throwing herself into Shaggy’s arms.

“Daphne stumbled across - “ he waved his hand at the corpse – “and screamed. When I came out, I could swear I saw someone running off down the hall, but Daphne says she didn’t see a thing.”

“Probably too distraught to notice,” Dean agreed.

Doors were opening all up and down the hall. Not as many guests as you would think for a mountain resort. Mostly just the kids who they’d wanted to check into and a couple of other weekday vacationers. The place would probably be super busy on the weekend.

If it was still open to the public after something so tragic.

Dean was surprised at how fast police responded, an ambulance in tow as the body was taken away. One of the resort employees explaining to the cops all about the ghost of that haunted the place and how it must have been the ghost behind this mysterious death.

Fred scoffed at the idea of a ghost while Daphne clung to him, but Shaggy shook and lamented that Scooby was missing, Velma attempting to push him away.

The kids thus distracted, Dean and Sam decided to make a run through the resort with their EMF readers. They were halfway through their search when another scream sounded. From opposite ends, the two of them booked it towards the source of the screams.

The same employee from earlier was babbling about the ghost, “I saw him, I swear! Rattling chains and howling – it ripped out the manager’s heart!”

Within moments, the four kids – minus their still missing dog - were in the hallway again. Fred was questioning the witness with Sam’s help. Dean tried to run the EMF discretely but despite the claims of the witness, Dean found no evidence of a ghost.

When the police came again – what the hell was up with that reaction time? – Fred and Sam tag teamed the cop, Sam showing his FBI badge and Fred eyeing it warily. Well, that was worth noting, Dean thought. Sam pulled the cop to the side and filled him in on the witness. After five minutes, the cop nodded and walked away to talk to other people.

Sam joined Dean a moment later, “You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

“Let me guess – it wasn’t a ghost?” Dean nodded and showed his unresponsive EMF reader.

“Yeah, so get this –“ Sam sounded not in the least bit surprised. Dean huffed out a breath of exasperation. “ - this guy had his heart ripped out, right? Well, so did the last one. And _now_ , they can’t find the body.”

“What? How does a morgue lose a body? Goddamn backwater hick towns,” Dean snorted.

“It’s not a backwater hick town.” Sam looked at his brother disapprovingly, “And I’m betting they didn’t lose it. Dean, what if it’s not skinwalker but a ghoul?”

“Well, shit,” Dean muttered, “Can’t use silver to expose it _or_ kill it then. That’s just great. Which means we’re back to square one and now our suspect pool is bigger than we thought.”

“You know what we need to do. We need to find the security cameras,” Sam said.


	5. If It Weren't For You Meddling Kids...

Thing was, none of it made any sense. They’d come here with the idea of a skinwalker impersonating the victim, framing him or her for the murder, but the clues were leading somewhere else.

Hearts ripped out indicated a werewolf, but that didn’t account for the changed pleas once arrested. Missing bodies indicated a ghoul. The dog had been missing each time there’d been a death and everyone who witnessed _anything_ had been positive it was a ghost.

Shape changing abilities of either a ghoul or a skinwalker aside, you couldn’t ‘impersonate’ an incorporeal form.

To top it off, the cops had way too good a response time and a total lack of concern over the idea that a pack of kids was attempting to do the cops job.

They hadn’t even appeared affronted by the FBI’s involvement in the entire mess. And that was something Sam and Dean had found to be an extremely rare occurrence. If nothing else, a ‘representative’ would usually be assigned to ‘babysit’ them. Or they’d be forced to hand over a business card for their ‘director’ and get validated. Neither one of those things had happened here.

Oh. And the security footage had mysteriously disappeared.

And now, swear to God, Dean was positive someone had enchanted the hallways. As he and Sam chased after the apparition, they were in turns joined and then abandoned by the kids, the cops and the other employees of the resort. The doors seemed to magically open up on the hallways in different locations and Dean couldn’t count the number of times he and Sam had gone through one to find themselves running at each other from different doors a second later. Or away from each other. Or parallel to each other.

With no memory of the room they’d actually run into.

How the hell do you run into room 113 at the end of the hall and come running out of room 101 on the other end?

And what the fuck was the _point_ of all that?

“Fucking witches!” he yelled. Dean fought against the force that seemed to be propelling him ever forward and finally managed to halt in the middle of the hallway, stepping out of the direct lines between doors.. He watched the pandemonium around him.

It had been disorientating to be part of and no less so to watch. It was like they were all trapped in some odd bubble. Even the so called ‘ghost’.

Which…didn’t make sense. Unless it was the _ghost_ doing it? But no wait…Dean whirled in place as he continued to watch the action swirl around him, in and out of doors to rooms that had only one entrance, one exit. It wasn’t possible for them to have gone into one room and come back out another.

Wait…there was a flicker on the edge of his vision, and in a couple of the loops, he saw _things_ he’d never seen before. Little winged balls of light. Centaurs and tall beings with pointed ears – he was seeing the _fae._

Dean realized then, that he was the only one likely to be seeing the fairies. Sam had no reaction whatsoever to the fact that there was a Centaur carrying him through one door –

-or that Sam was riding the same Centaur back out through another.

They were all befuddled and pushed – no advantage of the Sight that Dean had gained in his brief foray to Fairy Land (or whatever it was called) before they shoved him right back out as more trouble than he’d been worth.

He’d been pretty proud of that too. And if he could get out of _that_ situation, he sure as hell could get him and his brother out of this one.

Only problem was, he still had no idea who to single out. No way to identify which among them was the fairy responsible for this mess – wait a second.

Dean reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed the container or Mortens Salt and opened it. He watched everyone run, timing, looking for a pattern, checking to see when the bulk of everyone trapped in the loop would wind up closest to him – there!

With a flick of his wrist, Dean flung the salt in an arc before the feet of the front most people.

Everything happened fast after that. Daphne went down to her knees, jerked backwards like some great big hand had yanked her. Cursing, her sweet, bubbly voice suddenly snarling, she started counting the grains.

Everyone else stumbled to a stop. Most of them looked around, confused and started wandering away. The illusion of the ghost faded and the other fae piled into Daphne, falling to their own knees – which, given the ball of light didn’t have any, and one of those had four, was an interesting sight – falling into line and counting the grains, snapping and swatting at each other as they broke the others concentration or count.

Sam jerked away from Daphne and reached for his gun. “Dean?”

“Iron, Sam,” Dean barked. And then Fred and Shaggy leapt. Fred went for Sam while Shaggy aimed for Dean, changing in mid jump, “Fuck! And Silver!”

That was three out of five, goddamit! Werewolf and Fae and whatever Fred was (ghoul maybe?) that left Velma and the Dog…Dean shot at Shaggy, thankful that he’d loaded his cocktail bullets – good for witches, fae, ghosts and anything affected with silver (he’d even remembered to carve devil’s traps on the head of each bullet, so Demons too) – and he watched Shaggy go down, reverting to fully human.

He didn’t have long to rejoice for not missing the shot, when Scooby bowled him over with a snarl, “You killed Shaggy!”

Dean’s eyes widened at the incongruity of human speech – however badly done – coming out of the dogs’ mouth. He barely got his arm up to block the bite. Was it a skinwalker? Shapechanger? Dean struggled to bring the arm holding the gun back up so he could take a shot. Sharp teeth ripped at his jacket sleeve and finally he managed to get the barrel pointed just under the dog’s jaw and he pulled the trigger.

He winced and closed his eyes as the guts splattered over his face. Within seconds, Sam was helping him up.

Dean looked around. Daphne was still counting – she was no longer an immediate threat. Shaggy and Scooby were dead from Dean’s bullets and Fred was – well, Fred was decapitated, so Dean was going to assume Sam had thought ghoul as well, and Velma had also been shot.

Dean blinked.

“Wait, every single one of them?” he asked Sam incredulously.

“Yeah…what were the odds of that, right? I mean, I’ve heard of monsters working together before, but never such disparate types. But uh, I have to admit, it’s kind of brilliant. A werewolf who needed hearts. A shapechanger or skinwalker to pull off people appearing where they shouldn’t be, a ghoul who could do the same thing – and he’d eat what the werewolf didn’t. And between the powers of a fae and a witch, they could make illusions, coerce people – who knows what else. Though I’m not sure what they got out of it.”

“They were monsters, Sammy, who cares what they got out of it. Let’s take care of these guys and then we might want to uh, do some cleanup and vamoose,” Dean nodded at the fae, still locked in their holding pattern.

Sam nodded and together they raised their guns, the kill all bullets – so bulky and unwieldy at anything other than close range* which is why they didn’t use the concoction often – snapping back the heads of all three of the fae. Dean let Sam go for the only one he could see while Dean went for the other two.

He hesitated at the ball of light. It was small enough that a bullet wouldn’t work. And he didn’t have a microwave handy this time.

“Hey, Sammy? Get me a glass jar,” Dean smirked. “I got an idea.”

Sam shot his brother a look, but headed back to his room. He found a vase and emptied it, bringing it back to his brother. Dean used the jar to scoop up the fairy after first pouring a mound of salt into the bottom.

“There we go – instant nightlight. Never needs batteries,” Dean said proudly.

“Dean, not only is that sick – but it would only work for you,” Sam pointed out.

Dean’s face fell, “True. Well, this is actually only temporary, till I can find some iron to squish her with. Or a microwave, whichever comes first.”  Dean handed back the vase. “Just keep pouring salt in there occasionally, or shake it up and make her lose count so she can’t get out before we’re ready.”

Sam shook his head but kept the jar. He went back to their rooms and began packing their stuff as Dean dealt with the bodies. Whatever spells the witch and the fae had used on the resort would be broken now and they needed out of here fast.

When they finally piled into the Impala, tired and dirty from the work, Sam looked out at the Mystery Machine.

“What about that?” Sam wondered, staring out his window at the bright green and blue van.

“What about it? Whoever finds it gets to keep it. Unless you wanted it, Sam,” Dean smirked as he turned the key.

“No man, thought you might because it’s vintage.”

“Vintage what? Sure, it’s about as old as Baby, but it’s got nothin’ on her,” Dean patted the dash as he pulled out of the lot, the roar of baby loud in his ears, causing him to smile.

Case closed and mystery solved.


End file.
